


a vibration anywhere is felt everywhere

by kushala



Category: Summon Night 6
Genre: F/M, M/M, Sexual Violence, arachnophilia, possibility of pregnancy is left up to the reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 12:39:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13904214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kushala/pseuds/kushala





	a vibration anywhere is felt everywhere

_She finds an innocuous corner in which to spin her web. The longer the web takes, the more fabulous its construction. She has no need to chase. She sits quietly, her patience a consummate force; she waits for her prey to come to her on their own, and then she ensnares them, injects them with venom, rendering them unable to escape._

-Donna Lynn Hope

\------------

 

Ist looks up and sees a comet shower in the sky.

He's not sure what's raining down on Fillujah, exactly. Nothing's close enough to determine the nature of, one way or another, but he hopes it's just stone debris or miscellaneous materials and not more confused summoners caught in the web. It's unpleasant to watch them waste away.

Raj tackles him from behind and it feels like he's been hit with a sack a bricks, the momentum's so strong that it knocks both of them down into the grass and sends them tumbling down a knoll. 

All Ist sees is green and blue and he's tangled up in Raj's limbs so tightly that he can hear the quaking of laughter in his chest as much as he can feel the turf and pebbles on the way down.

At the bottom of the hill, Raj flips them over so that he's looming above, straddling him, still laughing.

“--can't believe I caught you off guard! What're you doing all the way out here?”

“I don't know. Things are falling again.”

“Aren't they always?”

“Not anymore.”

He bends at the elbows, chest-to-chest with Ist.

“What does that make you Elgo of, then?”

Ist's breathing comes shallow. He's boxed in and all too aware of the heat of another human body, the _unfamiliar_ heat of a human body, and some primal part of him whispers _worthy, breed,_ as Raj suddenly seems powerful enough to hold him down when he never was before. No one has been stronger than him before. No one has been worthy, but maybe him, maybe this--

“You,” he whispers, just as Raj grinds down on his crotch and he wakes with a gasping, short and quick and sweat in his eyes, Raj above him and shaking his shoulders. He can't hear what he's saying but he looks vaguely concerned.

“--st! Ist! Wake _up!_ ”

He looks left, right, sees that he's back in his room surrounded by brick and mortar, a plain table in the corner, and decidedly not rutting in the middle of a field. His silence and wandering eyes are rewarded with a slap across the face, and he comes to his senses fairly quickly.

“Look at me. _Look_ at me—damn,” Raj's hands are on his face, gloveless, too hot, and he's running his hands over his cheekbones and through his damp hairline. “I came to find you and you were knocked out. You're burning up.” 

He tilts Ist's head up, pulls down his eyelid to check the color.

“I'm--”

The reassurance dies in his throat. 

He _feels_ like there are insects crawling beneath his skin. He _feels_ too low on the ground. His stomach is bottoming out and his throat is sore and dry, but the hands on his face feel so good and he wishes he wasn't wearing as much as he is.

“You look like hell,” Raj says, frowning. “Can you sit up? You're drenched, you need to wipe yourself off.”

He nods numbly and he leans forward subconsciously as Raj leaves him to fetch water.

 

\\*

 

He returns shortly or after some longer period of time, Ist can't tell, he's too preoccupied looking around his room like it's the first time he's seen it, like it's the first day he created Linen and brought forth the building and the island from the ether. 

Raj takes his face in hand again, wiping down his face and smoothing down the unruly spikes of hair that are sticking up at odd angles and making him look younger than he is.

“Did you catch something?” Raj asks, and then lower, “I didn't know you could even _get_ sick.”

Sick. Yes. _Infirm._ Ist grasps Raj's wrists, perhaps with more force than is strictly necessary, and stops him touching his face.

“I might be. I must be.”

“O...kay?” Raj says cautiously.

After a few moments of awkward silence, he twists his wrists in Ist's hands, and is unhanded immediately as though Raj is some burning thing and Ist has been scalded.

“I must be overtired,” he says, when he and Raj know that he rarely sleeps. “I will take measures so that there is not a repeat occurrence of this incident.”

Raj looks at him with something like pity in his eyes.

It takes a minute of tense staring, but he says, “You know you can come to me—to us,” he corrects, “if anything's wrong?”

“Yes,” he affirms.

Raj seems to study him, eye contact level. Eventually, he says, “Okay. Okay, I trust you. It's just—there's something weird about you lately. Like a feeling or--” he looks down, back up again, “I dunno. You look different or uh. Don't take this the wrong way.”

Ist continues to stare at him.

“I don't mean you _stink_ ,” he waves his hands, “I mean you like, I—you smell different? If it's any consolation,” he smiles widely, “you kinda smell sweet, like fruit.”

 

\\*

 

He understands a great deal as a result of his tenure as overseer.

He understands that he was created to feed. To feed and--be fed to.

To be a suckling pig used as bait, a smaller monster given human form. 

He understands basic things about his anatomy, his unfortunately _very human_ anatomy, though streamlined so that he might eat and sleep less. Human-but-not. He knows every hill and plain in Fillujah, can map nonexistent roads to any stolen interdimensional location like he can trace the lines in the palm of his hand. 

But he can see these things because he was allowed to see them, has spent an immeasurable amount of time dissecting and re-dissecting them.

He could not dissect the mind of a god, much less understand the reason behind creating a creature that was simultaneously meant to be ruthless but capable of kindness, staunch and hard but malleable and capable of growth. Resigned to his fate and yet fearful enough to struggle against it. 

Ilidelucia had wanted a legacy.

Ilidelucia had fallen to that legacy, a creature meant to bend to his will suddenly turned a man bound so tightly by his need to protect others that he brought a god to his knees.

The creeping need to fill his world with creatures of his own making wells up in him like something primordial and bloody.

 

\\*

He spends the next week sequestered to his own quarters, despite loud and insistent protests from both Raj and Amu. 

He can't bear to watch them from afar, so he finds comfort in suspending a sheet to his ceiling with thread, fastidiously spinning silk from brick to canvas with a steady hand and a busy mind. 

He feels more comfortable like this, laying up high. 

He realizes he could do this anywhere, that the world is big enough that he could find some secluded grove and sit up in a tree until he has organized his thoughts, but some deep animal part of him needs the dark right now, needs the familiarity of his room and the comfort of knowing every nook and cranny.

He sleeps fitfully, dreaming of wandering hands and the sensation of fullness to bursting in his belly, holding and being held down, forced down, unable to breathe. He revels in the loss of autonomy, feels fulfillment in being pressed down and pressed into, as though it was something he was always meant to do. 

He doesn't know how to make sense of those dreams, doesn't know what his body wants from him, so he sleeps constantly in an attempt to satisfy whatever it is he's subconsciously yearning for.

Sometimes he sees Amu's face clearly—she would hold him down, press herself upon him so they were joined at the hips, clench his throat in her small, powerful hands until he couldn't breathe, couldn't resist, and she'd use him. She'd do the work for him, moving above him until the uneasiness in his stomach ebbed and she'd press reverent kisses to his brow, his eyelids, _you did good, you did so good_. He was meant to be here, she'd tell him—it was his duty as overseer, then as god, and they would populate this land until the stench and lingering poisonous presence of Ilidelucia was wiped clean from their world.

More often, though, he dreams of Raj. There is little to imagine in his dreams, based in reality as they are—Raj overpowers him now, and easily, with raw strength and bulk. Raj with his kind eyes and easy smile is different from the Raj his fevered mind conjures; this Raj forces him down on all fours by the scruff of his neck and does—in his waking moments he scrambles for the word but it's there in the back of his mind, _mate mate mate_ —takes him so fully that he can't think of being anywhere else but there, used for his intended purpose because he _has_ one, he has a purpose, he needs to _mate procreate mate create change carry--_

He knows that he need not seek them out. They will come to him eventually, one of them—not out of concern, though that will play a part in it through the threads of friendship that bind them together—but because he knows they can feel him out. Sense him. Feel his need as their own, though admittedly to a lesser extent—he knows this much through his observation of the summoners from Lyndbaum, of mankind's almost obsessive need for physical contact and—and _release._

He needs that now, but he doesn't know why. Raj had smelled it on him like some treacherous thing.

He can't tell day from night anymore. He curls into himself on his canopy, shoves his arms between his thighs to stop their quaking, and waits. 

Once again he finds himself a paradox, now toeing the line between propriety and depravity.

 

\\*

 

He wakes up to the feeling of falling, and when he opens his eyes he's on the ground and Raj has his arm in a vise-grip, and he realizes he hadn't dreamt of tumbling down at all.

Ist takes quick inventory of his state; he's hit his head on the way down. His ears are ringing. He feels calmer with Raj in the room than he has the entire time he's spent alone, and Raj is looking at him like he's never seen him before but has always been looking.

Their silence is as jarring as a scream reverberating in the room.

Raj kneels down, slowly, and runs his fingertips down Ist's cheek, brushes the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb. They are the careful movements of a man calming a frightened animal, ( _and that is not what he is,_ he thinks with surprising venom) so he snaps at Raj's fingers.

Raj's eyes widen, and there, there, that's what he's looking for--he hooks his thumb in Ist's cheek and jerks sideways, and this is not the Raj he knows but it _is_ the Raj that he currently wants. 

Maybe he's in there somewhere deep, but the man whose face he looks into looks as wild as he feels and has his pupils blown so large that his eyes are shimmering and dark.

His other hand cups the side of his head, rakes his hands through his hair, traces his brow, and shoves two fingers in his mouth. He unhooks Ist's cheek when he starts to suck, eager, and he's gasping around them in disbelief while Raj shoves black pants down around his thighs.

\\*

“Fuck.” 

Raj, bowed at the waist, covered in bites and scratches and sleepy-eyed, presses a hand to Ist's inner thigh and watches his own semen seep out of him. “T-There's so much.”

Ist keeps his hand pressed to his abdomen, feeling minutely bloated. Sated? He finally feels at peace, the past week an uncomfortable nightmare to be buried deep beneath the comfort he feels now. “Language,” he says.

Raj is silent for so long that Ist finally opens his eyes to look at him, and he looks as wrecked as the rest of the room. “I'm sorry. I hurt you.”

“I hurt you. If it is any comfort, I have taken my pound of flesh.”

Silence again. Raj looks down and wipes his hand on the bedspread, and Ist's brow twitches. “What was that?”

“I don't know.” He closes his eyes again. “I'm sorry I can't tell you more. I am as confused as you are.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” he says, too quickly. The thought makes the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end, and something in his chest constricts uncomfortably. His stomach churns.

Despite the fairly alarming occurrences of late, he knows himself well enough that this is not an emotional reaction, but a purely primal one ingrained for the sake of self-perseverance. For all he can see, however, he is in no danger himself, and neither is Raj.

By simple deduction there must be an as-of-yet unknown variable.

“Ist?”

“Stay with me.”

Raj's hand closes over his on his abdomen. “Where else would I go?”

\------------------

 

_“Like a spider in its web, a vibration anywhere_  
is felt everywhere.”  
― Lois Farfel Stark, The Telling Image: Shapes of Changing Times 


End file.
